James Finn Cotter (bản dịch tiếng Anh)

As much time as that sphere, which like a child
         Plays endlessly, has left between the end
         Of the third hour and the beginning day,
 
         So much of the sun’s course toward evening
5         Appeared still to be left, for now it was
         Vespers there and midnight over here.
 
         The slant rays struck us fully in the face,
         For we had circled so far round the mountain
         That we were headed straight into the sunset.
 
10       Now when I felt my forehead weighted down
         Wit

"Who is this who winds around our mountain
         Even before death gives him wings to fly,
         And opens and shuts his eyes just as he wills?"
 
         "I don’t know, but I know he is not alone:
5         You question him, since you are the closer,
         And greet him gently so that he wi

We now had reached the top step of the stairway
         Where the mountain which cures sin by our climbing
         Cuts away steeply for a second time.
 
         The terrace here girdles the hill around
5         In the same way the first ledge did below,
         Except that this curve makes a tighter loop.
 
         No shapes here and no likenesses to see:
         The cliff-face and the roadbed both are bare
         From the livid discoloring of the stone.
 
10       "Were we to wait for people to give directions,"
         The poet observed, "I am afraid our choice
         Perhaps should have to be delayed too long."
 
         Straight at the sun he riveted his eyes,
         And turning on the pivot of his right side
15       He swung himself full forward on his left.
 
         "O tender light, with trust in you I enter
         On this new road: now lead us on," he said,
         "For in this place we require to be led.
 
         "You warm the world, you shed your light upon it:
20       Unless other reasons urge us differently,
         Your own bright beams will always be our guide."
 
         The distance measured down here is a mile,
         That far we had already traveled there
         In a short time because of our prompt will:
 
25       And flying toward us we heard but did not see
         Spirits calling gracious invitations
         To banquet at the table of love’s feast.
 
         The first voice that flew past cried out aloud
         "They have no wine!" and it sped on by us
30       Off to our rear, re-echoing the words.
 
         And before it fully faded out of hearing
         Distance, another voice passed with the cry,
         "I am Orestes!" and also did not pause.
 
         "Oh," I cried, "father, what are these voices?"
35       And just as I asked this, listen! a third
         Exclaimed, "Love those who do you injury!"
 
         And my kind master said, "This circle scourges
         The sin of envy, and for this reason
         The whip is fashioned with the cords of love.
 
40       "The rein must be composed of opposite sound:
         I venture to say that you shall hear it soon
         Before you reach the passageway of pardon.
 
         "But fix your eyes steadily through the air
         And you shall see folk seated in front of us
45       Where each one sits with back against the rock."
 
         At that I more than ever opened my eyes:
         I peered ahead and noticed shades in cloaks
         Of the same discoloration as the stone.
 
         And when we went straight forward a short space,
50       I heard cried out " Mary, pray for us!"
         And cried out "Michael" and "Peter" and "All saints."
 
         I do not think there walks on earth today
         A man so hard of heart he’d not be stabbed
         By keen compassion at what I witnessed there,
 
55       For, when I came up close enough to them
         That their condition became clear to me,
         Tears of deep grief drained slowly from my eyes.
 
         Each one seemed to be covered in coarse haircloth,
         And one propped up the other with his shoulder
60       As all of them leaned back along the cliff-side.
 
         So, too, the blind in their impoverishment
         Gather at indulgences to beg bread;
         And one lets droop his head against another’s,
 
         The more to make the people pity them,
65       Not merely by the sound of their sad pleading,
         But by the sad looks that express their cravings.
 
         And as the sun brings no help to the blind,
         So for the shades in the place that I speak of
         The light of heaven withholds its radiance.
 
70       An iron thread pierces and sews up
         All of their eyelids, as is done to falcons
         Still so wild they recoil at keeping quiet.
 
         I thought that I did wrong to walk about
         Seeing others who could not see me
75      And so I turned to my wise counselor.
 
         He clearly knew what this mute wished to say
         And had no need to wait for me to ask,
         But said, "Speak, and be brief and to the point."
 
         Virgil walked on with me along the side
80       Of the high terrace from which one could fall
         Since there is no surrounding parapet.
 
         And on the other side of me there sat
         The devout shades who wet their cheeks with tears
         Which seeped out through the terrible stitched seams.
 
85       I turned to them, "O people," I began,
         "Assured of seeing the supernal light
         Which alone is the object of your longing,
 
         "So may grace soon clean out the clogged debris
         Of conscience that the river of memory
90       May once more run down through it clear and pure,
 
         "Tell me, as a favor I shall cherish,
         Is any soul among you here Italian?
         For me to know perhaps will do him good."
 
         "O my brother, we each are citizens
95       Of one true city, but you intend someone
         Who as a pilgrim lived in Italy."
 
         I seemed to hear this answer come some distance
         From up ahead of where I stood; so I moved
         To make myself heard more in that direction.
 
100      Among them all I saw one shade that looked
         Expectant — and if someone asks me how:
         The chin was raised the way the blind lift theirs.
 
         "Spirit," said I, "subduing yourself to climb:
         If you are the one who responded to me,
105     Make yourself known by either place or name."
 
         "I was a Sienese," the shade replied,
         "And with the rest here I mend my sinful life,
         Weeping to Him to show Himself to us.
 
         "Sapient I was not, though named Sapia.
110      I found far more delight in other’s losses
         Than ever I enjoyed my own good fortune.
 
         "But that you may not fancy I deceive you,
         Listen to the story of my folly
         In the declining arc of my last years.
 
115      "My fellow citizens took to the field
         Near Colle to join battle with their foes,
         And I prayed God for what he’d willed already.
 
         "There they were shattered and turned backward
         With harsh steps of retreat, and seeing the rout,
120      I knew the deepest pleasure of my life:
 
         "So deep, I turned my brazen face upward
         To shout at God, ‘Now I no longer fear you!’
         Like the blackbird at a hint of fair weather.
 
         "I wanted peace with God just at the end
125     Of all my days, and my debit would not
         As yet have been reduced by penitence,
 
         "Had it not been that Piero Pettinaio,
         Who in his charity felt sorry for me,
         Remembered me in his own holy pray

Side by side, as oxen go in yoke,
         I trod along with that weight-burdened soul,
         As long as my kind teacher would permit it.
 
         But when he spoke up, "Leave him and push on,
5         For each one here does well with sail and oars
         To urge his boat ahead with all his might,"
 
         I raised myself up straight as one should walk
         With body erect, although my thoughts remained
         Bowed down low and shrunken in themselves.
 
10       I did move on, and willingly I followed
         The footsteps of my master, and both of us
         Now showed how light we could be on our feet
 
         When he told me, "Lower your eyes: you will
         Do well, in making your way easier,
15       To see the bed of rock beneath your feet."
 
         Just as the tombs in the church floor above
         The buried dead, to keep their memory fresh,
         Bear carvings figuring what they were in real life,
 
         And at the sight men often weep for them
20       Because of the sharp spur of memory
         Which pierces only those faithful to the dead:
 
         So I saw there, but in a truer likeness
         By grace of the artist’s skill, sculptured stone
         On the whole path that juts out round the mountain.
 
25       I saw on one side him who was created
         Nobler than any other creature, falling
         Like a streak of lightning out of heaven.
 
         I saw Briareus on the other side
         Transfixed by the celestial thunderbolt,
30       Heavy on the ground in his last death-chills.
 
         I saw Thymbraeus, I saw Mars and Pallas,
         Still in armor, standing around their father,
         Staring at the giants’ scattered limbs.
 
         I saw Nimrod at the foot of his tower,
35       Looking bewildered, and people gaping there
         Who were so proud to join with him in Shinar.
 
         O Niobe, with what tear-laden eyes
         I saw you represented on the road
         Between seven sons and seven daughters slain!
 
40       O Saul, how you appeared there fallen dead
         Upon your own sword on Mount Gilboa
         Which never afterward felt rain or dew!
 
         O mad Arachne, so I saw you turned
         Half-spider already, in sadness on the shreds
45       Of the work you wove to your own undoing!
 
         O Rehoboam, your image there seems now
         Menacing no more, but a chariot wafts it
         Away in panic with no one in pursuit!
 
         Shown as well upon that pavement stone
50       Was Alcmaeon making his mother pay
         The full dear price for her ill-fated necklace.
 
         Shown were the sons of King Sennacherib
         Felling him at prayers in the temple
         And then leaving him there slain on the floor.
 
55       Shown was the downfall and the cruel killing
         Tomyris enacted when she said to Cyrus,
         "For blood you thirsted and with blood I sate you!"
 
         Shown were the Assyrians in full rout,
         After Holofernes had been murdered,
60       And also his remains amid the slaughter.
 
         I saw Troy in ashes, caved-in ruins:
         O Ilion, how cast down low were you
         Shown by the carving there exposed to view!
 
         What master artist of brush or pen was he
65       Who so sketched out the shapes and shadings there
         That they would strike the subtlest minds with awe?
 
         The dead looked dead, the living looked alive!
         Those who had seen the real scenes saw no better
         Than I did all I trod on while bent down!
 
70       Now be proud, and go with haughty looks,
         Children of Eve, and do not bend your faces
         To see the trail of sin you leave behind!
 
         By now we’d rounded far more of the mountain
         And much more of the sun’s course had run up
75       Than my restricted mind had reckoned on,
 
         When he who always looked ahead as he went
         On walking called anew, "Lift up your head!
         You’ve no more time to go on lost in thought!
 
         "Look! an angel over there makes ready
80       To come toward us. Look at the sixth handmaid
         Return from her noon service to the day.
 
         "Let reverence beam in your face and bearing
         That he may now be glad to send us upward.
         Remember, this day will not dawn again."
 
85       I was well used to his admonitions
         Not to waste time, so nothing that he said
         In that regard could be unclear to me.
 
         The beautiful creature now came closer to us,
         All clothed in white and looking radiant
90       Like a trembling star in the morning sky.
 
         Opening his arms wide, he spread his wings,
         Saying, "Come! the steps are here at hand
         And from now on the climbing will be easy."
 
         To this same invitation few come forward.
95       O human race, born to fly aloft,
         Why do you fall at a mere puff of wind?
 
         He led us where the rock had split wide open:
         There he struck my forehead with his wings,
         And then he promised me a safe, sure journey.
 
100      As on the right hand, on climbing on the hill
         Where rises the church, above the Rubaconte,
         Which dominates my so-well-governed city,
 
         The bold rise of the escarpment is broken
         By the stone stairway hewed out in time
105      When ledgers and staves were still trustworthy,
 
         Just so, steps make easier the embankment
         That falls steeply from the upper circle,
         But on both sides the high rock squeezes close.
 
         When we turned ourselves to that direction,
110      "Blessed are the poor in spirit" voices sang
         More sweetly than words ever could describe.
 
         Ah, how different these inroads are from those
         Of hell! For here the entrance is with hymns
         And there below with savage clamorings.
 
115      Now as we mounted up the sacred stairs,
          I seemed to be ever so much lighter
          Than I had been before on level ground:
 
          So I asked, "Master, tell me, what great weight
          Has just been lifted from me that I feel
120      Almost no fatigue as I walk on?"
 
         He answered, "When the P’s that still remain
         Upon your brow, although now nearly faded,
         Are totally erased, as this one is,
 
         "Your feet shall be so guided by goodwill
125      That not only will they never feel exhausted,
          They even will rejoice to be urged uphill."
 
          Then I did what persons do when strolling
          Unaware of something on their head,
          Until the signs of others make them guess it,
 
130       Their hand goes up to help find out for certain,
          And gropes and discovers and performs
          The duty that the eyes can’t carry through:
 
         So with the outstretched fingers of my right hand
135      I found only six of the letter P’s
         The angel of the keys traced on my temples,
 
         And, watching this reaction, my guide smiled.

"Our Father, who art in heaven, not bound there,
         But dwelling in it for the greater love
         Thou bearest toward thy firstborn works on high,
 
         "Hallowed be thy name and be thy worthiness
5         Through every creature, as it is most fitting
         To thank thee for the sweet breath of thy wisdom.
 
         "Thy kingdom come to us in peacefulness,
         Because we cannot reach it by ourselves,
         Unless it come, for all our striving effort.
 
10       "And as the angels do thy will in heaven
         By sacrificing theirs, singing hosanna,
         So let the men on earth do with their wills.
 
         "Give us this day our daily manna, since
         Without it, through this bitter wilderness
15       He retreats who tries hardest to advance.
 
         "And as we pardon all for the trespasses
         That we have suffered, so in loving kindness
         Forgive us: do not judge by our deserving.
 
         "Our strength so easily fails: lead us not
20       Into temptation through our ancient foe,
         But deliver us from the evil he provokes.
 
         "This last petition, dearest Lord, we make
         Not for our sake, since now we have no need,
         But for those people who remain behind us."
 
25       This way the souls, praying godspeed for both
         Themselves and us, trudged on beneath a burden
         Like that one pictures sometimes in a dream,
 
         Unequal in their anguish, all of them
         Plodding wearily around the first terrace,
30       Purging away the black dross of the world.
 
         If there they always speak up for our good,
         What for their good can here be said or done
         By those whose prayers are rooted in goodwill?
 
         Surely we should help them cleanse the stains
35       They brought from here, so that, buoyant and pure,
         They may take flight up to the wheeling stars.
 
         "Ah, so may justice and pity soon remove
         Your load of guilt that you may spread out wings
         Which will lift you to the limit of your longing,
 
40       "Show us on which side is the shortest way
         To reach the stairs, and if there’s more than one,
         Instruct us to the path that is least steep,
 
         "Because this man who walks with me, weighed down
         By Adam’s flesh, which he still wears about him,
45       Is slowed, against his will, in his climb up."
 
         Words of theirs were then returned in answer
         To those the guide I followed had addressed,
         But one could not be sure from whom they came:
 
         The words were: "Come with us along this bank
50       To the right, and you’ll find the passageway
         Possible for a living person to ascend.
 
         "And were I not encumbered by this stone
         Which has so tamed my proud neck to submission
         That I am forced to keep my face bent down,
 
55       "I would now gaze upon this man who lives
         But remains nameless, to see if I know him
         And to make him feel compassion for my load.
 
         "I was Italian, son of a great Tuscan:
         Guglielmo Aldobrandesco was my father;
60       I do not know if you ever heard his name.
 
         "The age-old blood and the gallant exploits
         Of my forebears made me so arrogant
         That, not thinking of our common mother,
 
         "I held all men in such complete contempt
65       It killed me, as the Sienese all know
         And every child in Campagnatico.
 
         "I am Omberto. And not only has pride
         Damaged me but it has dragged down all
         My kinsfolk with it into catastrophe.
 
70       "And for this sin I here must bear this weight
         Until I give God satisfaction — since I
         Gave none among the living — among the dead."
 
         Listening to him I held my head down lower;
         And one of them — not the one who’d spoken —
75       Shifted under the mass that pressed upon him
 
         And noticed me and knew me and called out,
         Struggling to keep his eyes fixed upon me
         While I, stooped over, walked along with them.
 
         "Oh," I cried out, "are you not Oderisi,
80       Honor of Gubbio, glory of that art
         Which in Paris they call ‘illuminating’?"
 
         "Brother," he said, "the pages painted by
         Franco Bolognese smile more brightly:
         All his the honor now — and partly mine.
 
85       "Certainly I would have been less courteous
         While I was alive, through my vaulting zeal
         For excellence to which my heart aspired.
 
         "The price of pride like this is paid out here;
         And still I’d not be here if it were not
90       That, capable of sin, I turned to God.
 
         "Oh, the vainglory of our human powers!
         How brief the time the green grows on the hilltop,
         Unless the age that follows it is barren!
 
         "Cimabue thought he held the field
95       In painting, but now the hue and cry is for
         Giotto, and the other’s fame is dulled.
 
         "So, one Guido has snatched from another
         Poetic glory, and perhaps the man
         Has been born who will chase both from the nest!
 
100      "Earthly fame is but a breath of wind,
         No more; huffing here and puffing there,
         It changes name when it changes quarter.
 
         "What more renown will you have, if you lose
         Your flesh through old age, than if you had died
105      Before you left your baby-talk behind you
 
         "In, say, a thousand years? That is a shorter
         Span to the eternal than the blink of an eye
         Is to the turn of the slowest of the spheres.
 
         "All Tuscany resounded with the name
110      Of him who creeps before me on this path:
         Now’s scarce a whisper of him in Siena
 
         "Where he was lord when they together crushed
         The rage of Florence — who was then in wartime
         As proud as she is prostituted now.
 
115      "Your reputation is like the shade of grass
         Which comes and goes: the sun that makes it spring
         Green from the ground soon causes it to fade."
 
         And I told him, "Your words ring true to my heart
         With fit humility and cure my puffed-up pride:
120     But who is he of whom you spoke just now?"
 
         "That," he replied, "is Provenzan Salvani,
         And he is here because in his presumption
         He tried to get his hands on all Siena.
 
         "So he goes on and has gone since he died,
125     Without rest: such is the coin which those
         Who dare too much must pay in satisfaction."
 
         And I: "If souls who postpone until the last
         Moment of life before they show repentance
         Stay there below and do not mount up here
 
130      "Until they wait as long as they once lived —
         Unless propitious prayers come to their aid —
         Then how was he allowed to hasten here?"
 
         "When he lived at the height of his own glory,"
         He said, "he in Siena’s marketplace,
135     Shunning all shame, freely took his stand:
 
         "And there, to gain release for his good friend
         From sufferings he endured in Charles’ dungeon,
         He reduced himself to shivering in his veins.
 
         "I say no more: I know that I speak darkly,
140      But after a short time has passed, your neighbors
         Will so behave that you can gloss it out:
 
         "This act delivered him from that confinement."

When we were past the threshold of the gate
         Which the soul’s wrongful love may never use
         Since such love makes the crooked way seem straight,
 
         I heard by its loud clanging the gate close:
5         And if I had turned my eyes back to it,
         What fit excuse could I find for my fault?
 
         We climbed the rockface through a zigzag cleft
         Which pitches from one side to the other
         Like a wave cresting in and rolling out.
 
10       "Here we must exercise some skill and care,"
         My guide began, "to stay close, now this side
         And now that, to the low receding edge."
 
         And this task made our steps so slow that now
         The waning moon had once again gone back
15       To bed, to sink into its morning rest,
 
         Before we issued from that needle’s eye.
         When we were free and out into the open,
         Up where the mount surged back to form a ledge,
 
         We halted — I worn out and the two of us
20       Unsure of our way — there on that level place
         Lonelier than a trail through empty deserts.
 
         From the edge which verges out on vacant space
         To the base of the sheer cliff soaring upward
         Measures three times the length of a man’s body;
 
25       And as far as my eyes could wing their way,
         Now equally to the left, now to the right,
         So wide the terrace seemed to stretch before me.
 
         From that spot we had yet to take a step
         When I discerned that all the inner cliff-ring,
30       Which rose so steep there was no way to scale it,
 
         Was pure white marble, and so decorated
         With carvings that they would have put to shame
         Not only Polycletus but nature too.
 
         The angel who came down to earth decreeing
35       The peace which, deeply mourned for many years,
         Has opened heaven from its long interdict
 
         Appeared before us there so faithfully
         Chiseled out in his soft-spoken bearing
         That he did not seem to be a silent image:
 
40       One would have sworn that he was saying "Ave,"
         Since she who turned the key to open up
         Love on high was also imaged there,
 
         And her attitude appeared stamped with the words:
         "Behold the handmaid of the Lord," as sharply
45       As a figure is engraved on sealing wax.
 
         "You need not fix your mind on one place only,"
         My gentle master stated, while he made me
         Stand on the side where the heart within us beats.
 
         At that I shifted my sight and gazed further
50       Past Mary, in the same right-hand direction
         Where he stood who had urged me on to look,
 
         To see another story cut in stone;
         So I crossed in front of Virgil and approached
         To have the scene disclosed before my eyes.
 
55       There carved upon the surface of the marble
         Were cart and oxen pulling the holy ark,
         To warn men not to overreach their charge.
 
         At the lead, seven choirs in separate files
         Appeared: one of my senses argued, "No,"
60       The other answered, "Yes, they really sing!"
 
         In the same way, the smoking from the incense
         Pictured there made my two eyes and nose
         Disagree between a yes and no.
 
         There in the vanguard of the sacred coffer,
65       Dancing with robes hitched up, the humble psalmist
         So proved himself both more and less than king.
 
         Opposite, depicted at the window
         Of a stately palace, Michal watched him dance,
         So like a woman filled with wrath and scorn.
 
70       I stirred my feet from the spot where I stood
         To study close at hand another story
         Which I saw shining white just past Michal.
 
         There was told the tale of the high glory
         Won by the Roman prince whose worthiness
75       Moved Gregory to make his mighty conquest:
 
         I here speak of the Emperor Trajan.
         And there was at his bridle a poor widow
         Held in a pose of weeping and distress.
 
         Surrounding him was shown a trampling press
80       Of horsemen, while eagles stitched in gold
         Waved in full view above them on the wind.
 
         Among them all the wretched woman seemed
         To cry, "Oh lord, take vengeance for my son
         Whose slaying has pierced my heart with sorrow."
 
85       And he appeared to answer her, "Now wait
         Until I shall return." And she: "My lord,"
         With urgent grief, "What if you don’t come back?"
 
         And he: "Whoever takes my place will act
         For me." And she: "What good shall someone else’s
90       Good deeds do you if you ignore your own?"
 
         To this he said, "Take comfort, since I must
         Fulfill my duty here before I leave:
         Justice claims it and pity holds me back."
 
         He in whose sight nothing is ever new
95       Created this art of visible speaking,
         Foreign to us who do not find it here.
 
         While I enjoyed myself with gazing on
         These images of high humility,
         Precious to look at for their Maker’s sake,
 
100      "Look over there," the poet murmured to me,
         "That throng of people walking with slow steps:
         They will direct us to the stairs on high."
 
         My eyes, happy to be full of wonder
         In seeing something new for which they yearn,
105     Surely were not slow to turn toward him.
 
         I would not have you, reader, in alarm
         Lose your good resolve when you now hear
         How God has willed that we should pay our debts.
 
         Pay no attention to the form of pain:
110     Think of the aftermath, think that the worst
         Will be that it will last till judgment day.
 
         "Master," I began, "what I make out
         Moving toward us does not look like people,
         But what I do not know — my sight’s so muddled!"
 
115      And he said to me, "The weighty condition
         Of their torment so bows them to the ground
         That my eyes first debated about them.
 
         "But peer there firmly and sort out by sight
         What approaches us beneath those boulders:
120      By now you see how each one beats his breast."
 
         O haughty Christians, woebegone, careworn,
         You, sickened in the insight of your minds,
         Who misplace all your trust in backward steps,
 
         Are you not aware that we are worms,
125      Born to become the angelic butterflies
         Which soar defenseless up toward the judgment?
 
         Why does your mind float proudly far aloft
         When you are merely like imperfect insects,
         Just as the larva lacks its final form?
 
130      Sometimes, in support of roof or ceiling,
         One sees a corbel shaped in a man’s figure
         With the knees hunched up against the chest,
 
         Which, while unreal, gives birth to real discomfort
         In someone seeing it: that’s how I saw,
135     When I took good care, how these souls were stooped.
 
         True, some were more pressed down and some were less
         If they had more or less weight on their backs,
         Yet even one who suffered most patiently
 
         Appeared to say through tears, "I can no more."

The concubine of old Tithonus now
         Grew pale above the eastern balcony,
         Breaking away from her sweet lover’s arms;
 
         Her white forehead glittered with bright gems
5         Set in the shape of that cold animal
         Which stings and lashes people with its tail;
 
         And night, there in the spot where we were come,
         Had scaled two steps of the hours that she climbs,
         And the third already lowered down its wings,
 
10       When I, who had a trace of Adam in me,
         Overcome by sleep,

Now was the hour when voyagers at sea
         Pine to turn home and their hearts soften,
         This first day out, for friends they bid good-bye,
 
         The hour when outsetting pilgrims ache
5         With love to hear the far-off tolling bell
         That seems to mourn the dying day with tears,
 
         When I began to let my listening fade
         And gazed instead at one of the souls there
         Who had stood up and gestured to be heard.
 
10       He folded his hands in prayer and lifted them,
         With his eyes fastened on the east, as if
         Saying to God, "I care for nothing else!"
 
         "To You before the light is done" — devoutly
         Came from his lips with such melodious tones
15       That it ma

After this gallant and warm-hearted greeting
         Again had been given three or four times more,
         Sordello stepped back and asked, "Who are you?"
 
         "Before those souls worthy of climbing up
5         To God were turned toward this mountaintop,
         My bones were buried by Octavian:
 
         "I am Virgil, and for no other fault
         Have I lost heaven than for want of faith."
         This then was the answer my guide gave him.
 
10       As one who sees suddenly before him
         Something to make him wonder, in belief
         And disbelief he says, "It is ... It isn’t so!"
 
         So that shade seemed, and then he bowed his head
         And, humbly coming to my guide again,
15       Embraced him as a minion clasps his lord.
 
         "O glory of the Latin race," he cried,
         "Who proved the power of our native tongue,
         O everlasting honor of my birthplace,
 
         "What merit or what grace brings you to me?
20       Should I be worthy to hear your words, tell me
         If you come here from hell, and from which cell?"
 
         "Through all the circles of that realm of pain,"
         He answered him, "have I come to this place.
         Heaven’s might moved me: by its help I came.
 
25       "Not what I did but what I did not do
         Lost me the sight of that high sun you crave
         And which I came to recognize too late.
 
         "There is a place down there not cursed by tortures
         But only by the darkness, and distress
30       Has not the sound of cries but of deep sighs.
 
         "There I stay with the infant innocents
         Bit off by the strong teeth of death before
         They were delivered from our human guilt.
 
         "There I stay with those souls who did not don
35       Three holy virtues, but who, free from vice,
         Knew all the other virtues and followed them.
 
         "But if you know and are allowed to tell,
         Teach us how we may reach most quickly
         Where purgatory properly begins."
 
40       He answered, "No particular place is set us:
         I am permitted to amble up and around:
         As far as I may travel I shall guide you.
 
         "But look! already daylight is declining,
         And it is not possible to climb at night:
45       It’s best to think then of a resting-place.
 
         "Some souls are off here to the right, apart:
         By your leave I will take you both to them,
         And you will find delight in their acquaintance."
 
         "How do you mean?" my guide asked. "Would someone
50       Wishing to mount by night be stopped by others,
         Or would he not go on because he cannot?"
 
         Good Sordello drew his finger on the ground
         And answered, "Look! even beyond this line
         You could not dare cross once the sun has set.
 
55       "Nor is there anything else that blocks the path
         For going up except the dark of night:
         That blinds the will with inability.
 
         "One might, indeed, at nightfall turn back down
         And go wandering around the mountainside
60       While the horizon seals the daylight shut."
 
         At that my master, seemingly amazed,
         Said, "Lead us then to the place that you mention,
         Where we may find delight in our delay."
 
         We had gone on just a short way from there
65       When I observed that the hill was hollowed out,
         As valleys carve out mountains here on earth.
 
         "Out there," the shade now told us, "we shall walk
         To where the slope shapes out a lap of stone,
         And we shall all wait there for the new day."
 
70       Half steep, half level was a rambling path
         Which led us to the border of that hollow
         Whose edge fades to the middle of the slope.
 
         Gold, fine silver, white lead, cochineal,
         Indigo, self-glowing polished wood,
75       Fresh emerald at the instant it is split,
 
         The grass and flowers blooming in that valley
         Outshine them all in color — were they there —
         As finer works surpass inferior.
 
         But nature had not only painted that place:
80       Out of the sweetness of a thousand scents
         She made there one unknown and secret perfume.
 
         "Salve Regina" — I saw the souls who sang
         This hymn seated on the flowering green:
         They had been hidden till then in the valley.
 
85       "Do not wish me to guide you there among them,"
         The Mantuan conducting us began,
         "Before the setting sun drops to its nest.
 
         "From this knoll you will discover better
         The movements and the faces of them all
90       Than if you were down with them in their glen.
 
         "The one who sits highest and wears the look
         Of having failed to do what he should have done
         And neglects to move his lips with others singing
 
         "Was Rudolph the Emperor, who could have cured
95       The wounds that meant the death of Italy:
         Though someone else should help, it is too late.
 
         "The other shade who seems to comfort him
         Once ruled the land where spring up those waters
         Which the Moldau drifts to the Elbe and the sea:
 
100      "Ottokar was his name, and in babyhood
         He was braver than his grown son Wenceslaus
         In his beard, fed on idleness and lust.
 
         "That snub-nosed one who seems so thick in talk
         With the kind-looking soul next to him
105      Died fleeing and dishonoring the lily:
 
         "Watch him there — look how he beats his breast!
         See too that other one who cradles his cheek
         In the palm of his hand, the while he sighs:
 
         "They’re father and father-in-law of the Plague
110      Of France — they know his vile and vicious life,
         And that is why grief stabs them to the heart.
 
         "That one who seems so strong in build and who
         Chimes his singing with the big-nosed shade
         Was cinctured with the cord of worthiness,
 
115      "And if the young man seated at his rear
         Had succeeded him to his throne, then
         His worth would have passed on from urn to urn,
 
         "A thing that never happened to his heirs.
         James and Frederick now hold the kingdoms,
120      But neither gained the better heritage.
 
         "The sap of human goodness rarely rises
         Through its branches, and this He wills who gives
         The gift that we may call on Him for it.
 
         "My words apply to him with the big nose
125     And to the one who sings with him, Peter,
         Who caused Apulia and Provence distress.
 
         "So stunted has the family tree become
         That Constance can still boast about her husband
         More than Beatrice and Margaret could of theirs.
 
130      "See there the king who led a simple life,
         Sitting all alone, Henry of England:
         He in his branches has a sturdier stock.
 
         "The one who sits with them on lower ground,
         Gazing upward, is William the Marquis,
135      Through whom Alessandria and its war
 
         "Make Montferrat and Canavese weep."

When a game of dice breaks up, the loser
         Loiters behind in a downhearted mood,
         Casting his throws again and sadly wiser,
 
         While all the bystanders leave with the winner:
5         One strolls ahead, one tugs him from the rear,
         And one begs for his attention at his side.
 
         He does not stop, but hears this one and that;
         When he gives one a handout, one more leaves,
         And in that way he wards off the whole crowd.
 
10       I was the same within that pressing throng,
         Turning my face this side and that to all,
         Until by promises I slipped scot-free.
 
         The Aretine was there who met his death
         At the cruel hands of Ghino di Tacco,
15       And the other one who drowned in hot pursuit.
 
         Federigo Novello was there begging
         With arms outstretched to me, and there the Pisan
         Whose death made good Marzucco show his valor.
 
         I saw Count Orso, and the soul cut off
20       From its body by spitefulness and hate,
         They say, and not for any crime committed:
 
         Pierre de la Brosse, I mean; and while she lives,
         Let the Lady of Brabant look out lest she
         May end up with the sadder flock for this.
 
25       As soon as I came free of all those shades
         Whose only prayer was that some others pray
         So that the way to their bliss would be hastened,
 
         I then began, "You seem to me expressly
         To deny, O my light, in one written passage
30       That prayer can bend the ordinance of heaven,
 
         "And yet these people pray for this alone:
         Shall then this hope of theirs be empty-handed
         Or is what you said not quite clear to me?"
 
         And he told me, "What I wrote down is plain —
35       The hope of all these souls is not mistaken,
         If you would ponder with an open mind:
 
         "The heights of justice are not brought down low
         Because the fire of love may in one instant
         Fulfill the debt for sin of those lodged here;
 
40       "And there where I asserted this clear point,
         The fault could not be straightened out by prayer
         Because the prayer had been divorced from God.
 
         "But surely you need not remain in so
         Deep a doubt when she who shall be the light
45       Between your mind and truth explains it to you.
 
         "I don’t know if you grasp — I speak of Beatrice.
         You shall see her above, blissful and smiling,
         Upon the summit of this very mountain."
 
         And I: "My lord, let’s walk on with more haste,
50       For now I do not tire as I did then,
         And look! by now the hillside casts a shadow."
 
         "We will walk on as long as daylight lasts,"
         He answered me, "as far as we still can,
         But the reality is not what you suppose.
 
55       "Before you reach that top, you’ll see the sun,
         Now screened behind the hillside so that you
         Do not obstruct its beams, come out again.
 
         "But see, right over there sits one spirit
         All alone, who looks in our direction:
60       He will mark out for us the quickest way."
 
         We came up to him then. O Lombard soul,
         How aloof and disdainful was your manner!
         How solemnly and slowly your eyes moved!
 
         He said not a thing to us, but let us
65       Keep climbing upward, only looking on
         In the same way a lion rests and watches.
 
         Yet Virgil drew up close to him, asking
         That he point out to us the best ascent,
         But he made no reply to his request;
 
70       Instead he questioned us about our country
         And way of life; and the kind guide began,
         "Mantua ... " but the shade, shut in himself,
 
         Now rose toward him from the place he had kept
         And cried, "O Mantuan, I am Sordello
75       From your own city!" And they embraced each other.
 
         Ah, slavish Italy, hostelry for griefs,
         Ship without a captain in huge storms,
         No madam of the provinces but of brothels!
 
         That noble spirit was so eager-hearted,
80       Just at the sweet sound of his city’s name,
         To welcome there his fellow-citizen —
 
         And now all those who dwell within you live
         In war; enclosed by one same wall and moat,
         One person gnaws away at another!
 
85       Search out, you wretched place, around the shores
         Of your own seas, and then look in your heart
         For any part of you that enjoys peace!
 
         What good that Justinian with his code
         Repair the bridle if the saddle’s empty?
90       Without that bit the shame would be less biting!
 
         Ah, people that ought to show reverence
         And allow Caesar to sit in the saddle,
         If you knew well what God prescribes for you!
 
         Look how this beast has become barbarous
95       By its not being checked by any spurs
         Since you have put your hands to the bridle!
 
         O German Albert, you abandon her
         And she has grown uncurbable and wild,
         You who should ride high astride her saddle!
 
100      May the just judgment from the stars fall down
         Upon your bloodline, with so strange and plain
         A sign that may make your heir shake with fear!
 
         Because you and your father, long diverted
         By your greediness back home, have permitted
105     The garden of the empire to waste away.
 
         Come see the Montagues and Capulets,
         The Monaldi and Filippeschi, you reckless man:
         The first two live in grief, the second dread it!
 
         Come, cruel ruler, come see the distress
110      Of your noblemen, come cure their diseases,
         And you shall see how bleak is Santafiora!
 
         Come see your Rome, weeping in widowhood
         All by herself, wailing day and night:
         "My Caesar, why have you abandoned me?"
 
115      Come see how all your people love each other,
         And if no pity moves your heart for us,
         Come feel the shame your fame has won for you!
 
         And if it be allowed me, O highest Jove
         Who on the earth was crucified for us:
120     Are your eyes turned away to somewhere else?
 
         Or is it preparation you provide
         In the depths of your counsel for some good
         Wholly cut off from our discovery?
 
         For all the cities of Italy are filled
125     With tyrants, and any bumpkin who learns how
         To play politics becomes a Marcellus.
 
         My Florence, clearly you can be content
         At this digression which does not touch you,
         Thanks to the earnest efforts of your people!
 
130      Many men have justice in their hearts,
         But thinking makes them slow to let shafts fly:
         Yet your people shoot off with their mouths!
 
         Many men refuse a public office,
         But your people answer with eagerness
135      No call at all, and cry, "I will! I’ll serve!"
 
         Now be glad, since